


Finding Out the Wrong Way

by leaper182



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: (well mermen), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dwalin is a cop, Gen, M/M, Ori is a librarian, The author is extremely unoriginal, paranormal elements, yay mermaids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A weekend with his very muscular, very handsome oh-god-I-think-we're-actually-getting-serious eyecandy, or a weekend getting nagged by his eldest brother to stay in the water for pity's sake, and to eat more, while being surrounded by enough tinsel to make anyone sneeze. </p><p>The choice should not have been that difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Out the Wrong Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [multipurposetoolguy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/gifts).



> I figure that when you're doing a modern AU, you might as well use modern names. For a quick reference guide, here are the people named in the fic.
> 
> Harry - Thorin  
> Frank - Dwalin  
> George - Dori  
> Ryan - Nori  
> Miles - Ori

"Why is a Liberty hold at Northeast?" Miles asked his computer blankly.

The computer didn't answer. In fact, it just stayed exactly as it was, revealing that, indeed, there was a children's book at the Northeast Branch Library that was supposed to be at Liberty.

Miles stared at it for another five seconds, and let his head land on his desk with a thump. He'd been going at a fairly good clip ever since the list had landed on his desk two hours ago -- the first four pages of the eight-weeks holds list had been a case of "we only have four copies of a ridiculously popular item, and all checkouts are for three weeks", so it was easy enough to make a notation that people were waiting, and that all of the copies had recently circulated.

As mind-numbing as the work was, Miles told himself that he only had to last three more hours. Three more hours, and then he could escape to George's house for the entire weekend. He could jump into the lake, feel the warm and cool currents in the water against his skin, and finally relax for the first time in a month. He would have to deal with George complaining that he needed to come home more often if he didn't want to run the risk of drying out completely, but it was a small price to pay.

Still facedown in a list of display ideas that he had been compiling for the past week, the only indication Miles had that he had company was the rustle-y sort of thump of a Styrofoam container in a plastic bag, and the heavenly scent of sushi.

Miles's mouth went on autopilot as he lifted his head. "I'm really sorry, but food isn't allowed--" He blinked.

Frank Wallace was six-two, worked out in all the right ways, and wore enough denim to show off his body quite well. His bald pate shone in the lights of the Reference section, though the salt-and-pepper mustache and beard he sported seemed to be trying to make up for the lack. He was also looking at Miles with twinkling blue eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh," Miles said weakly.

"Oh?" Frank murmured, sounding as he always did like the rumble of a Harley mixed with the warmth of a freshly-made cup of hot cocoa.

"I thought you were tied up at work?" Miles tried not to wince at how his voice had climbed an octave.

Frank looked genuinely surprised, but his smile grew. "I was able to trade a shift with Harry." He glanced at the plastic bag he'd deposited on Miles's desk. "Hungry?"

Miles opened his mouth to object that he still had three hours to go, and he'd have to take the food downstairs, and he was still at _work_ \-- but then his stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

Frank grinned.

Miles sighed. "Very."

"S'good thing I came to spring you, then," Frank murmured. "Or else you might've wasted away to nothing."

"Unfortunately, my shift doesn't end until 5:30," Miles said regretfully, staring down at the Styrofoam in his hands and knowing just from the smell that it was the good sushi from the Japanese place that had opened a month ago. He hadn't had sushi in _weeks_.

"You were free four minutes ago?" Frank asked.

Miles blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Frank pointed to the clock over his shoulder as an answer.

Miles stared at the clock, feeling more than a little betrayed. "I could've left already?" he asked plaintively.

"It's hard being responsible, I know," Frank said sympathetically, picking up the plastic bag by the handles and gently lifting it off Miles's desk. "I hope whatever that is was all right?" He nodded to where the list had been spread across Miles's desk.

"Of course not." Miles groaned loudly. "It never is."

Frank nodded sympathetically. "Well, now that you're free, what sort of plans do you have?" If he happened to look more than a little hopeful, Miles couldn't blame him. With Frank picking up extra hours at his cousin's motorcycle shop, they hadn't had time to see each other in the past few weeks. Miles had been ready to chalk it up to a wistful could-have-been, but then this happened.

"Escaping to my brother's lake house for the weekend," Miles blurted out before he realized exactly _what_ he had said. "Oh, but, since you're here--"

Frank shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should've called first. I didn't mean to upset your plans."

Miles shook his head, slipping off his lanyard and opening the locked drawer in his desk in order to fish out his messenger bag. "It's fine, really. I can always go next weekend. It's not far." He mentally winced. It had already been a month since he had visited George last, and if this kept happening, he was going to be in serious trouble by New Year's.

"Miles?"

Miles looked up at Frank, who was looking at him with noticeable concern. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you were all right," Frank said slowly. "You're looking a little green."

Miles fought down a snort with little success. "I'm all right. Really." A weekend with his very muscular, very handsome oh-god-I-think-we're-actually-getting-serious eyecandy, or a weekend getting nagged by his eldest brother to stay in the water for pity's sake, and to eat more, while being surrounded by enough tinsel to make anyone sneeze.

The choice should not have been that difficult. 

Frank folded his arms across his chest. Miles really didn't think that was fair of him, because it showed off his lovely biceps to great effect. "Miles."

Miles sighed. "Frank, I'm fine. I'll go clock out, we'll rendezvous at your car--"

"Bike," Frank corrected mildly.

It was very difficult to not act like a smitten teenager when Frank kept pushing all of his buttons. "Bike," Miles repeated with a nod. "And we'll figure out what to do from there."

Frank watched him for a long moment before nodding slowly in reply. "All right. I'll bring my bike 'round to your car."

Miles watched him go, smiling a little stupidly at how the muscles in Frank's legs were lovingly outlined by the jeans he was wearing before reminding himself that he was an adult, and that he needed to act like one if he was going to survive with what little dignity he had left.

Five minutes, some good-natured ribbing from the Circulation staff who'd seen Miles's "tall drink of Scotsman" walk in, and one clock-out at 5:45, Miles knew he was in trouble.

He thought that he'd been imagining the dryness in his mouth because of seeing Frank suddenly showing up at his work, but his tongue started to feel like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. The churning in his stomach that he'd chalked up to butterflies because it really was unfair just how attractive Frank _was_ was taking a nasty turn, along with a few twists that were almost unbearable.

As he stepped outside into the cool December evening, he felt like all of the water was being sucked out of him by the cool breeze. Shit.

Miles pulled out his phone sluggishly, his fingers fumbling with pressing the lock button, and then opening the Address book.

The roar from Frank's motorcycle -- usually just tolerably loud -- was deafening, sending a stab of pain right through Miles's head.

"George," Miles said through numb lips. He gritted his teeth, watching his fingers type in George's name in the tiny keyboard. He pressed the call button, and brought the phone to his ear.

" _Miles, there you are!_ " George said, fondly exasperated as only he could sound. " _You were off work nearly twenty minutes ago. I've been wanting to ask you if you wanted--_ "

Miles couldn't stand the nagging, not when he was starting to see black-and-purple spots in front of his eyes. "George." It felt like he was pushing the word out of his lips with both hands and all of his effort. "Help."

" _Miles?_ " George said, sharper now. " _What's wrong?_ "

Distantly, Miles thought he could hear Frank calling his name. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Drying..."

He didn't finish the thought.

***

Frank barely managed to catch Miles in time as the younger man slumped toward the ground in a boneless heap. "Jesus!" He saw Miles's phone fall from his fingers and bounce on the pavement before landing face-up. Concentrating on the body in his arms, Frank carefully laid him down and checked his pulse, peeling an eyelid up to look at his pupils.

" _Miles!_ " a tinny male voice snapped from nearby. It took Frank a second to realize that it had come from Miles's phone. The speaker must've turned on when it bounced. Miles had always been complaining that he should replace it.

Frank snatched up the phone and set it next to Miles as he rested his head against Miles's chest. "He's a bit busy at the moment. I'm Frank."

" _Frank?_ " the voice sounded startled. " _The traffic cop Frank?_ "

Frank frowned. Miles's heartbeat was strong, but he didn't like how fast it was getting. "That would be me, though I think you have the advantage. Who's this?"

" _Miles's eldest brother, George,_ " the voice replied. " _What's happening? Is Miles all right?_ "

"His eyes rolled back into his head, and it looks like he's unconscious." Frank reflexively reached for his radio before remembering that he was out of uniform. "I have to call this in."

" _Wait!_ " George snapped frantically. " _Before you do anything, look at his hands!_ "

"His hands?" Frank demanded, picking up one of them carefully and scowling at it. "Why should I--"

Along the back of Miles's hand, there were tiny... if he thought it was possible, Frank would've called them _scales_.

"What the hell?"

" _You can have your bout of panic and disbelief later,_ " George snapped impatiently, sounding for all the world like Frank's last calculus teacher in college when he wasn't understanding how limits worked. " _What does his hand look like?_ "

"He's got--" Frank shook his head. "Scales?"

" _Color?_ " When Frank kept staring at them in disbelief, watching as more of them grew on Mile's skin before his eyes, George snapped. " _Focus, Officer! What color!_ "

The sharpness in George snapped him out of his momentary stupor. "Dark blue," Frank said quickly. "Well, kind of a blue-green."

George swore softly. " _His body is trying to draw the moisture from the air, and he's drying out faster. Dammit, I_ told _him he needed to-- No, never mind. Has he ever mentioned my lake house to you before?_ "

"Yeah," Frank said blankly. "He mentioned possibly coming up for his birthday. George, I have to call for an ambulance."

" _You'll do no such thing,_ " George snapped. " _You're going to load him into his car and drive up here. His TomTom should have the instructions already loaded into it. The sooner you can get him here, the better._ "

"I'm not going anywhere until you start explaining," Frank snapped back. "Miles is unconscious, his pulse is through the roof and--"

" _If you call an ambulance, he's going to die in the hospital in less than twenty-four hours,_ " George barked. " _Load him into the car and bring him here. **Now.**_ "

Frank's spine suddenly straightened, and before he knew what was happening, he was rifling through Miles's messenger bag for his keys, scooping up Miles like some Harlequin novel damsel in distress, putting him in the backseat of his battered Mazda Miata, and was on the road in less than five minutes. He'd had the sense of mind to pick up the phone while he was at it, and was glaring at it as he pulled out of the library's parking lot, and headed for the highway.

"What the hell was that?" Frank barked, checking his rear view before deciding to floor it through a red light.

" _Call it an elder brother's prerogative,_ " George said dryly. " _Bring him here and I'll explain._ "

***

Twenty minutes later, Frank was scowling at the TomTom's instruction of TURN ONTO THE DIRT PATH AND CONTINUE FOR ONE QUARTER MILE when he found a stocky, fifty-something man in flannel pajamas and a trailing house robe hurrying along the dirt road. Frank cranked down the driver's window and frowned up at him.

"There you are!" George puffed at him, dashing around the front of the car and hopping into the passenger seat. He turned to look at Miles, and winced. "Drive! We need to get him to the lake, quickly!"

Gravel and dirt spat out from under the wheels as Frank turned down the dirt road and floored it. The quarter mile buzzed by in a shadowy haze, and after passing a weed-choked chainlink fence, Frank saw that what he had thought were shadows from the highway was a modest two-story house, with a large lake behind it.

George didn't wait for Frank to kill the engine, hopping out of the car and scooping Miles out of the backseat as though he weighed no more than a puppy. Then he made a beeline for the lake.

Frank had to say something, though, when George stopped to yank off Miles's slacks and underwear in one fluid motion. "What're you--"

George shook his head. "Later," he puffed quickly. When they got to the edge of the lake, Frank could see that there was a long wooden pier, worn smooth with age. George dashed across the pier, and then with a frantic heave, threw Miles into the air.

Miles landed in the water with a loud splash, and submerged almost immediately.

"Miles!" Frank shouted. He turned on George. "What the hell--"

Now that they were both standing side-by-side, Frank could see in the light of the house's back porch that George was barely taller than his younger brother. Disheveled hair that must have been the same shade of auburn that Miles had had long since gone to a blond-grey that stood out against the shadows of the evening. Frank hadn't been wrong about the flannel pajamas or the flowing house robe, but he hadn't noticed the slippers in the shape of bear paws until just then.

George snorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Now that he's in the water, he's fine. Give him about ten minutes."

Frank had had more than enough of the cryptic bullshit. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"My little brother is a merman, and you're about to get the shovel talk of your life," George said mildly. "Would you care for some tea?"

***

Wherever Miles was, it was heavenly. There was nothing to hear but the currents singing in his ears. There was nothing but the smooth, slippery water against his skin. His tail was fully formed, strong and steady as he stretched his muscles and groaned with relief as he felt a bone or two pop in reply. When he opened his eyes, he could see that night had fallen. George was going to yell at him for staying in the lake for all hours and missing dinner.

George... There was something he was supposed to remember about George, but at the moment, all he could feel were the currents brushing against his skin, the occasional fish making its way past.

It was times like this when Miles wished he could bring Frank down here. Frank had told him about having gone snorkeling a few times in Hawaii. He would appreciate the lake.

Frank...

Miles's eyes shot wide open. Frank.

He twisted, wriggled, thrashed in the water before he remembered how to work his tail, pushed himself to the surface. He concentrated for a moment, closed his gills, and broke the surface of the water to drag in deep lungfuls of air.

"Careful, now, Miles!" George yelped. "It's December, and I'm not dressed for the water!"

Miles stared up at his eldest brother on the pier. "Frank! Where is he? Is he here?"

"He's inside," George grunted, cradling a mug protectively to his chest. "We've been getting acquainted while you've been recovering."

"Getting acquainted?" Miles asked faintly.

George nodded, looking annoyed for a moment before taking a sip of from his mug. "He's not dead, though I imagine if Ryan were here, it would be a very near thing. You really should've said something before now."

Miles hated the fact that he could feel himself blushing. "I was sure that I had enough of a cushion--"

"Not if you've been faced with that much of a man on a regular basis, you didn't." George took another meditative sip. "I've explained the basics to him, but I imagine that you and he are going to have to talk at length. He's asleep on the couch in the front room."

Miles nodded sheepishly. "Thank you for not killing him."

George rolled his eyes. "We're not savages, Miles. As long as your policeman keeps to the Silence, we should be fine."

Miles nodded again. "Sorry for the trouble."

George tried to look annoyed before he sighed heavily and motioned Miles to come closer. He bent down carefully and kissed the top of Miles's wet hair. "Next time, do try to be careful, hmm? I'd rather not get a fright like you gave me tonight." He righted himself and stretched his neck from side to side. "Sleep out here, if you can. We're not expecting a freeze, but I'll have the pick ready in case there's a cold snap."

Miles opened his mouth to object, but George shook his head.

"You've been drying out over the course of a month, Miles. Stay in there, or so help me, I'll tie a concrete block to your tail fin."

Miles sighed. "Good night, George."

George nodded, looking satisfied. "Good night, Miles."


End file.
